


Courtroom

by Sonora



Series: Love Bites 'verse [11]
Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: (I tried to keep it funny but I guess that depends on your point of view), (but Representative Taylor is a dick so who cares?), (depending on your view of what's going on here), (heh), (just so much traaaaaash here), (literally is the Beckets fucking their way out of their problems), Alternate Universe - Prison, Alternate Universe - Succubi & Incubi, Bottom Raleigh Becket, Extremely Dubious Consent, Fauns & Satyrs, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Mind Control, Multi, Orgy, Pheromones, Porn With Plot, Prison Sex, Public Sex, Transformation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-07
Updated: 2015-08-30
Packaged: 2018-04-13 11:59:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4521108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sonora/pseuds/Sonora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The court martial's looming, Raleigh's driving all the humans around him crazy, and Yancy asks Tendo for help in resolving the situation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Raleigh, we can’t fuck our way out of this.”

“Why the hell not?”

“Because... shit, why do I even need to explain this?”

“We fuck our way out of everything, Yance. It’s what we do. It’s who we are.” Raleigh leans back on the bench. “Or are you letting that stupid guilt thing eat at you again?”

“I don’t feel guilty,” Yancy replies honestly - and it really is the truth. He and Daddy had had a long talk, the night Yancy went to the hospital. So if anything, he feels vindicated. 

While he’s fairly certain that the spell is still working - this is _his_ magic, after all - it’s at least changed into a form that works a little bit better for them all, especially with this Scott situation. But really, who the fuck cares? Like Daddy said, all Yancy did was make sure Daddy could love another man. He didn’t force anything on him. Daddy loves him all on his own, and it’s real, and Yancy’s sick of being sad about everything all the time. He’s an incubus; he’s going to enjoy his win. 

“So what’s the damn problem?”

“It’s just not a logical way of handling the situation.”

“Why not?”

“There are cameras in the court room, for one.”

Raleigh huffs, waving a hand out at the yard. “There are cameras here. It’s not stopping anyone from having fun.”

And okay. Yancy can’t so much as feign disinterest in what’s going on over on the basketball court, a group of younger inmates holding an impromptu six-on-six game that seems to involve a lot of stripping. They’re all shirtless, and the losing team is down to their briefs right now, which with all the sweating and the ass-slapping and the jumping around is a pretty damn tasty sight.

Everyone does seem to be enjoying it. Immensely.

Raleigh - devious little shit that he is - showed up about two days after that phone call. About ten days ago now. Major Heller wasn’t happy about this transfer, and Daddy was extremely not happy about it, but Raleigh did it anyway. Came out of intake with a huge smile on his face, tossing his bundle of bedding on the bottom bunk in their cell and tackling Yancy to the ground. 

Yancy is truly, genuinely happy to have his brother back. But... well, Raleigh’s _pregnant_. On his best day, the kid is an over enthusiastic puppy. Right now, he’s like a puppy that’s been injected with a shit ton of caffeine and let loose in a tennis ball factory. Or something. 

Raleigh is putting off nuclear-strength pheromones right now. _Nuclear_. _Whip your dick out_ pheromones. _Strip naked and fuck me in a public park_ pheromones. _Daddy come feed our baby_ pheromones. And the prison is losing its collective mind in response.

It started out quietly enough. A few stray glances, that first morning, when Raleigh joined Yancy for breakfast, at a table with some of the former officers who are serving confinements here. Handshakes were exchanged, and names, and some laughing, but Yancy could still smell the first tinglings of arousal from the human boys as Raleigh pushed the food around on his tray, chatting happily away. 

Didn’t take as much as it normally did to jack one of them off under the table. 

Raleigh watched with great interest, but didn’t partake himself. Which Yancy thought was a little insane, considering how that was the game they used to play back at Jaeger Academy. But then Raleigh announced breezily that he was going to the bathroom, and half a second after he left the table, two of the humans did as well.

And it’s only gone downhill from there. The pheromones getting stronger, the influence growing more intense. 

So things like this are happening. The losing team out on the court purposely fumbles their next basket. Amidst loud cheering from the assembling crowd, those briefs come off. 

At a biological level, Raleigh’s body is crying out for his baby daddy, for his human lover to come take care of him. But Daddy’s not here right now, either to fuck Raleigh or get Raleigh under control, and there’s only so much Yancy can do.

Only so much he wants to do, honestly. 

Prison is a hell of a lot more fun with random nudity thrown into the mix. Smells a lot better right now. The guards aren’t so nasty, the other inmates not so cranky. Even Major Heller seemed looser and happier when he came to see them today. And it’s not like it’s hurting any of these guys, right? 

But in a courtroom, outside the controlled environment of prison, with the media undoubtedly somewhere nearby...

“It’s not a solution,” Yancy protests, trying to ignore the delicious odor of male arousal, wafting in the afternoon air. He might not be affected by his little brother’s scent, but this, he can’t help but be moved by. “What do you want me to do, whammy the entire court room and fuck a not guilty verdict out of the Marshall?”

Raleigh nods, obviously distracted. “Is he going to be presiding?”

Yancy resists the urge to cuff the kid. _Pregnant, he’s pregnant, be nice to your pregnant little brother_ , he tells himself, but it really is damn hard. “Were you even listening to Major Heller at the meeting this morning?” 

“Shouldn’t Marshall Pentecost be easy for you, though?” Raleigh asks. Two of the boys out on the court have apparently lost all interest in the game, making out instead against one of the posts. “He fucking loves Jazmine.”

“Oh yeah, shifting into Jazmine in the middle of a packed room. That’s a great idea.”

“Yancy...”

“No, Rals, no.”

And Raleigh shifts a little, laying his head on Yancy’s shoulder. “Major Heller said it’s not looking good for us, though. The UN’s denied his request to call the fishing boat crew we saved for testimony, they’ve reassigned a couple of the folks who were on shift at LOCCENT to Hong Kong and won’t give them leave to come back here...”

“Yeah, I get it.” At least the kid was paying attention. That’s good. “But Raleigh, everyone, _everyone_ has to be under the influence. And you, me, and Chuck together can’t control a room that big.”

“Who says we have to use straight up magic?” Raleigh raises an eyebrow. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but the pheromones? Not a problem right now. Won’t that be enough?”

The little make out session on the basketball court isn’t so little anymore. It’s definitely spreading, more guys coming in from elsewhere in the yard, even a few of the guards taking interest. A cursory tendril of interest, weaving through some of the humans’ thoughts, shows that very few of them find anything odd about what’s going on. 

“These dudes are locked in here with us. The jury won’t be. Whatever frustration they feel from being around you, they’ll go home and fuck into their partners instead. Whatever we do, if we do something, has to be fast, it has to be everyone, instant.” Yancy snaps his fingers for emphasis. 

“But won’t the pheromones soften ‘em up for you? Make it easier, faster, all that shit?”

“It’s still too many people, Rals.”

His brother kisses the underside of his chin. “But you can do anything, Yance.”

Yancy strokes his fingers through Raleigh’s hair. “Pheromones or magic, pheromones and magic, I just don’t see it working.”

Raleigh nods, hand resting absently on his belly. 

And then he grins.

“There’s always Tendo.”

Oh. _Oh_. But there, again... it’s not a solution. “Tendo won’t do it.”

“We’ll get him one of those stainless steel cock cages and couple of magnum condoms and just, umm, he’ll do it. Come on. It's us.”

“Raleigh...”

“You don’t want your nephew growing up without us, do you?” Raleigh pats his belly again. “All alone in Australia, with nobody but Scott and Daddy to look after him.”

“Scott knows more about babies than we do," Yancy grumbles.

“Yeah, but his baby is Chuck,” Raleigh says pointedly, and slides gracefully off the bench, pulling his shirt off as he does so, pale body practically glowing in the afternoon sun. “Don’t you want your nephew growing up to be a good, sweet boy?”

“Chuck’s sweet,” Yancy protests.

Raleigh just smiles winsomely at him. “Watch my shirt for me, will you, bro?” 

"Rals," Yancy groans. "Come on, we already had lunch."

“Gonna go get a snack. Eating for two, you know,” he says lightly, and starts off towards the basketball court. 

Yancy sighs again. Prison was a hell of a lot less complicated before Raleigh showed up.

“Hey guys! Who wants to play a game of bukake?!”

But then, it was a lot less fun.


	2. Chapter 2

“You didn’t have to do this, love,” Herc murmurs in Scott’s ear as he slides their IDs into the window pocket for the guard. His ID and Chuck’s ID, actually - Scott’s wearing their boy’s face right now for this visit. His face, his jacket, his boots, his undershirt... “The boys’ll see you soon enough.”

“You have any faith they can actually win this trial?” Scott replies, somewhat distracted by the scent in the foyer of the visitor’s room. Six months in Pearl Harbor’s lock-up and he’d have thought he knew the place cold. But this? This is different. Enticing. Good.

“Plenty.” Scott gives his brother - mate, _husband_ \- a look. A silent _just because we haven’t been together for a while doesn’t mean I don’t know when you’re bullshitting me_ look. Herc rolls his eyes. “Some.” 

“I suppose Stacker does do what you tell him to,” Scott replies.

“I didn’t tell him to throw you in jail.”

“You sure about that?”

His brother has the decency to flush a little. “Not the time.”

“Obviously.” The guard hands them back their IDs, buzzes them in to the visitor’s room. Scott’s sure he imagines the wink he sees; the guards here are humorless arseholes, especially in his experience. Something about being a jaeger pilot court martialled for rape hadn’t endeared him to them. “But we are going to talk about that shit. Don’t think you’re getting out of it.”

“Now you sound like Angie,” Herc grumbles, and lays an hand on the small of his back, pushing him through the door and into the room.

Scott resists the urge to smile.

It doesn’t even occur to him that maybe Herc shouldn’t be touching him like that. Or rather, that Herc shouldn’t be touching Chuck like that in front of the guard and the people in the visitors’ room, who all look at up at them with recognition in their faces but don’t say anything at all. 

Gratifying, that.

Scott knows Herc was surprised by his request to come along on this little visit; he’s still weak, and he certainly hasn’t been cleared to leave the hospital. But Scott spent years as Angela, shifting rarely, and he’s learned how to live with the fatigue that comes from staying in another form too long. A few hours won’t kill him. In fact, it’ll just make Herc more attentive once they get back to bed, and won’t that be lovely?

Besides, Scott hasn’t had the chance to meet Raleigh yet. Chuck has a few photos on his phone, and of course Scott knows him from all that PPDC propaganda material, but it’s not the same. 

And sure, it’s fucked up, this thing with Herc. But being the most important thing in Herc’s life? Being the one Herc comes home to and fucks through the bed every night? Whether that’s as his brother or his wife or _whatever_? That’s all Scott’s ever wanted to be.

Sucks Herc had to go and knock up some other incubus. One who actually knows what he is, what their people are, how this whole... thing works. Still. Raleigh _isn’t_ Herc’s brother. Or Herc’s wife. 

Scott’s fairly sure - hopeful, at least - that Raleigh can’t replace him. 

If Raleigh does though, Scott wants to make damn sure the boy is worthy of Herc. It is his brother here, after all. It’s Scott’s job to ensure Herc only has the best.

He does have a slight moment of panic, when they step through into the visitors’ area. Yeah, it’s the nice one with tables and benches, where you can sit and touch. The ADC, Major Heller, set up the visit for the Beckets today; it’s the first time Scott’s been here himself. He never had any visitors. But the place still looks like the rest of the prison, blank and slightly sea-worn, enough to put him in mind of his cell and the loneliness, the gnawing hunger.

Beside him, Herc squeezes his hand reassuringly, love pouring through their still-weak bond. “Never again, love,” his big brother murmurs in his ear.

Scott feels a little better.

Until.

“Chuck!” the younger Becket - and dear god, he really does look like a Golden Retriever in person, doesn’t he? - practically purrs, bounding up to him. The boy’s arms are around his neck before Scott knows what hit him. “Taking care of Daddy for us?!”

“Umm...” Scott tries to say, but the kid kisses him before he can get any real words out.

Kisses him.

And shoves away, like he’s been burned, curling into Yancy’s side like a pissed-off kitten. Hell, he even _hisses_.

“You’re not Chuck!”

Yancy shoots Scott and Herc - who’s watching this whole little moment with bemusement, fucking arsehole that he is - a look, and cradles his brother’s head with one arm, the other around his waist. “Shh, Rals, it’s just Scott. Calm down.”

“But he looks like Chuck and he’s not Chuck!”

“Yes, I know, but based on his smell...”

Herc clears his throat. Loudly. “Boys?” he asks, in a way that’s not asking at all, “maybe you should both shut the fuck up?”

“Why?” Yancy replies.

“Do you need me to spell it out for you?”

“Oh, yeah. That.” Yancy glances around, and then grins a lopsided, devilish grin. “I wouldn’t worry about it. Raleigh’s pretty well fucked this whole place up.”

“Hey, I’m still here, you know,” Raleigh pouts - adorably, Scott has to admit, and he smells good, like warm cinnamon in mulled cider. Or something. Hell, the whole place smells good. So much better than it did when he was here. 

“I know, kiddo, but you might as well be stoned right now.”

Raleigh beams. “Just need Daddy.”

“Daddy’s right fucking there, Rals.”

The young seppo pilot looks up, blinking a few times, like he hadn’t even noticed Herc before. “Daddy?” he asks softly, almost reverently, and lifts his head from his brother’s chest. “Daddy!” 

And just like that, his mood shifts from confused and pissed off, to almost maniacally gleeful, propelling himself away from his brother and into Scott’s. Hard. 

Herc’s got a couple of photos on his phone - things Yancy has sent him, apparently - of a teenage version of Raleigh, young and skinny and very femme. The young man in front of Scott now, however, has a good fifty pounds and four inches on that cute little twink, and his bulk knocks Herc completely off balance, onto the bench behind them. Herc lands with a soft _oophm_ , and Raleigh, without missing a beat, crawls right up into his lap, nuzzling his neck like a kitten hopped up on catnip.

He's very kittenish. Or puppy-ish. Or whatever. Some cute baby animal completely lacking in self-awareness. Scott can only hope Raleigh's not this out of control all the time. Raising a Hansen is going to require laser focus at all times. Charlie was a right terror.

“Steady there now,” Herc warns, a little more wary than before, and his eyes roam over to Yancy. Who shrugs back.

“Pregnancy hormones.”

“Are you lot ever not hormonal?”

“What can I say? We’re creatures of instinct. And our Daddy hasn’t been around to keep us in line.”

“No shit,” Herc mutters, and then gasps as Raleigh nips him, jerking him back by the hair. “Mind the teeth, brat.”

“Yes, Daddy.”

Scott watches for a moment more, Herc using that hair to pull Raleigh up into a bruising kiss, the younger jaeger pilot squirming on his lap, the outline of his tail pressing against the rough weave of the prison jumpsuit. It’s erotic, and filthy, and he knows he should be jealous, but somehow, that isn’t the emotion that’s rising to mind.

“Beautiful, aren’t they?” Yancy asks, echoing his exact thoughts. Scott looks down, sees the boy’s hand threaded through his. He remembers Yancy curling up in his bunk with him at night, and wonders if this is an incubus thing, the need to touch. It feels so good to be touched.

“That’s not... strange, for you?” Scott asks lamely, and lets himself be tugged down, taking a seat on the bench next to Yancy, eyes roaming the room. It’s not the same as when he left, he realizes, and it goes beyond the mere smell of the place. That guard over in the far corner... his uniform pants have been cut off, so far up his cheeks are peeking out the bottom, cute little bubble butt perfectly on display. The inmate at the table three away from theirs is fingering his girlfriend under the table. The bloke waiting in the corner is stroking himself, cock fat and juicy in the morning air. And they aren’t the only people who are acting, well... hormonal.

Pregnancy does this? Scott doesn’t remember it being like this for him. Sure, he was horny as _fuck_ when he was pregnant with their Charlie - not to mention how he almost always soaked his panties when he breastfed, later on - but he still worked up until the seventh month. He never reduced his hospital ward to this kind of delicious mess. 

But then, Herc was fucking him every morning. And evening. And sometimes at lunch, showing up at the hospital with a little bouquet of flowers or deli sandwiches or some such silly excuse.

Scott feels better now, for some reason, something settling in his stomach.

“What?” Yancy replies.

“Your brother, calling mine Daddy?”

Yancy smiles at him. “He is Daddy. Only thing that’s weird about any of this is it took us this long to find him,” he says, and lays his cheek on Scott’s shoulder. “Now,” he says, voice dropping to a downright sinful octave, “you wanna fuck or what? I’ve been dying to get my dick inside you since I heard we’d be bunking together. Was so excited about hypnotizing the shit out of the great Scott Hansen and having my way with him.”

It shouldn’t be hot. But it’s really fucking hot. Scott shivers. “I thought I couldn’t, you know, with anybody other than Herc. Since we’re mates.”

“Daddy just needs to be in the same physical space,” Yancy says lightly, and slides a hand down to the front of Chuck’s khakis, palming him. “So sailor, what’ll be your pleasure?”

“I’m a Ranger,” Scott retorts, really wishing he could be pissed off about this. It’s a bit hard, what with how Yancy’s waking his cock up and all. 

Yancy kisses his cheek. “Obviously.”

“Nothing’s obvious right now,” he grumbles, and Yancy’s expression softens for a moment. “I mean, shit, umm...”

“Shh, I know what you mean,” Yancy replies, bringing his lips so close to Scott’s ear he can feel the younger incubus’ breath. “So why don’t I have those guards come over here, and show you just how much fun being an incubus really is?”

“Can they be naked?” Scott asks, perking. That one bloke in the cut-off shorts does have such a nice arse.

“See? Now you’re getting it,” Yancy says with a laugh, and whistles All eyes shoot to them. “Hey boys, isn’t it getting too hot in here for clothes? Why don’t you take that shit off and have some fun?”

Wonderfully, that means Herc, too.


	3. Chapter 3

Things quiet down for a few days after that.

Sort of.

It’s not like Raleigh’s any less needy, even if Daddy did literally fuck him until he cried the other day. Or that the prison population is any less enthusiastic about all the casual sex that’s been going on - apparently, a lot of the guys here have decided there’s nothing wrong with bumping dicks with somebody else. But Daddy coming by did have the effect of reducing Raleigh’s pheromone levels. A bit. For a while.

Yancy’ll take it.

The trial isn’t looking good. Daddy knew it and Yancy knows it. The UN wants blood; technically, the Gages and LOCCENT are more at fault for the Knifehead disaster than the Beckets are. LOCCENT deployed Romeo Blue too far south, and the Gages made the call to head for the Vancouver/Seattle area, thinking that the pollution trails from those two cities would be more of a draw than Anchorage’s. But the Gages haven’t been disciplined; hell, they’re not even allowed to testify, and apparently, they want to. Major Heller - who admits he’s going out on a limb, what, with his efforts to set up a fair defense between stymied at every turn - thinks Representative Taylor's worked some kind of deal, California having more pull in Congress than Alaska, some political bullshit like that. 

Whatever. 

They’re going to get out of this. They have their solution. 

Daddy had promised - Raleigh cuddled in his lap, half-conscious and smiling - he’d contact Tendo.

“He’s testifying, isn’t he?”

“Yeah, but we need him there the day of sentencing.”

“What’s the significance of having Choi around?” Scott had asked, lounging against Yancy’s shoulder, fucked out himself. 

“He’s a satyr,” Yancy had said.

Scott had started; Daddy rolled his eyes. “Don’t be cute. What Scott’s asking is why it fucking matters, son.”

“Umm, satyrs can, umm... you know all those stories about the god Pan and orgies and all those, err, shenanigans?”

“Wait,” Scott asked, raising his hand. “Let’s start with satyrs are real, how about?”

“No, the real question is why are we talking about orgies,” Daddy interjected. “Why are we talking about orgies?”

Raleigh giggled. “We’re gonna fuck our way out.”

Daddy had sighed. “I was wrong. Go back to that bit about satyrs. I think that’s about all of this conversation I can handle right now.”

Satyrs. Strange creatures, Yancy’s always thought. They aren’t like incubi, where they need sex to live; no, not at all. Sex is more of an addiction for them, something they really fucking enjoy, can’t control themselves in the face of, and often take to life-threatening excesses. Not like too much sex will kill them, or anything like that, but...

Well. 

Yancy had found out about Tendo’s secret the old fashioned way - pinning him to a wall and kissing him breathless, a healthy dose of influence woven about them. But where most boys kiss back, grope and gasp and beg for more, Tendo had tried to shove him off. Protesting.

“Hey, Tendo...”

“We can’t,” his friend had gasped. “I can’t. I’ll hurt you.”

Tendo was hard in his cute little civilian hipster jeans by that point, but he was _way_ bigger than the average human. And his scent, oh his scent...

Wild, rich, carrying the notes of good wine and campfire and the gold-white taste of flute music, it was unmistakable.

Definitely satyr. 

“Hey man, don’t worry, you can’t hurt me,” Yancy had replied with a big grin, and dropped his horns. “Come on, come back to our room, have that threesome of your dreams. Can’t tell me you haven’t been dying to see me and Rals make out.”

Tendo had blanched. Then protested. Then said incubi couldn’t be real. Then gave in when Yancy kissed him again and promised they had Clorox in their room to clean up anything that splattered. Not that Raleigh was one to waste cum under any circumstances anyway. 

It was a good night. A really, really good night.

Yancy’s never heard the story, but he doesn’t have to. Satyrs are exclusively male, and their cum doesn’t do jack shit to human women, but human men? Half a teaspoon on the skin is more than enough change that man into one of them, and the change happens in a few minutes. 

Yancy and Raleigh have been to satyr orgies a couple of times. Mostly Tendo’s, by invitation. Those are hosted by the local support group on Oahu. Gets together about once a week. No humans allowed. It got pretty crazy, and those are the celibate ones (celibate in satyr terms meaning more _no fucking humans against their will_ , which is reasonable, instead of _no sex ever_ , which Yancy personally can’t fathom as a concept in the first place). Yancy’s also been to the other kind. Where the satyrs involved don’t care. Once. Also on invitation, back when he was working at the strip club. Those get all kind of fucked up. But either way, it doesn’t really matter.

A human man who wanders into a satyr orgy, private or otherwise, has about a zero percent chance of still being human five minutes later. It happens occasionally. Sometimes on purpose. And, in Yancy’s opinion, it’s a pretty fucking stupid way to behave. Goddamn stupid sex-crazed goats. When half the town football team sprouts goat legs after a late night pep rally bonfire, (like the one he had the displeasure of being witness to for about fifteen minutes, before he peaced the hell out) it tends to attract attention. Like law enforcement. Or worse, those rare but real asshole humans who think everything supernatural needs to be exterminated on principle. 

Anyway. It has to be what happened to Tendo. 

Tendo’s not bitter, even if he’s not overly enthusiastic about his current situation. He’s also the only _Catholic_ satyr Yancy’s ever heard about, much less met, so he supposes that probably has something to do with it. Still, it’s not like Tendo can’t have a nice life with his water nymph girl and maybe adopt a couple of kids - girls would admittedly be better - and do his... Catholic... thing. However that works.

Still, even celibate, Tendo’s got the same qualities about him that make those orgies possible. Satyr pheromones don’t work as well on women, but they’re highly effective on men. Like, every man within a fifty foot radius, or an enclosed room. It’s an almost instantaneous reaction, clouding better sense, heightening arousal to near-dangerous levels, and generally rendering human males drooling sluts in a couple of minutes. 

Yancy can work with that. Easily. He’s been in Marshall Pentecost’s head more times than just about any other human alive, sure. Dug around in his brain, knows where to push. And maybe he could just whammy him and be done with it, but it’s not just about the Marshall. It’s about the whole room. The witnesses. The reporters who’ll be in the back. Whatever suits the UN is going to send to “observe.” The jury. 

The jury has to come back with a not-guilty verdict.

So he needs what Tendo can provide. 

It was a bit difficult to condense into a cliff notes’ version for Daddy and Scott.

Scott looked a little pale around the gills when Yancy was done.

Daddy, on the other hand...

“So, fuck your way out of this is an accurate assessment of your battle plan?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

“Jesus fucking Christ.”

Daddy had promised to contact Tendo, however he could - he was worried about screwing something up legally, or something. That was about the time Raleigh hd declared he was bored and started trying to suck Daddy’s tongue out of his mouth, so that had basically been the end of the conversation.

Yancy’s not worried. Daddy will come through. Tendo’s going to come through. 

He’s not worried at all.

Especially not when he has cute boys literally tripping over each other to let him fuck their tight little asses. And a pregnant brother to keep out of trouble.

Things were quiet for a day or two, after Daddy came and visited them and gave Raleigh what he needs.

Now? Three days before the trial?

Basically nobody - especially Raleigh - is bothering to wear clothes anymore. The guards have decided spankings are a far more appropriate punishment than solitary confinement. All that exercise equipment out in the yard has been put to more creative uses than pumping iron. The Commandant personally handed out buttplugs to anybody who wanted one this morning at breakfast. And Yancy can pretty much go to the showers whenever he likes, and watch the sausage party that never seems to end down here. Pretty, happy, soapy boys, thoroughly enjoying themselves as they scrub each other down...

“Hey, Yance,” Raleigh says beside him, nudging him a little with an elbow, “can I go play?”

He chuckles, and, grabbing Raleigh by the elbow, pulls him into a long slow kiss, in front of all those lovely human boys. They clap. Makes him feel like he’s up on stage again, floating on excitement and hunger and the helpless desire of humans around him.

“Anything my baby boy wants,” Yancy teases, and lays a hand suggestively on Raleigh’s belly.

Raleigh’s eyes sparkle. “That’s our daddy’s boy in there,” he purrs, and gives Yancy another quick peck on the lips, leaning close to whipser, “but I’ll always be yours.”

“Yeah, a pain in my ass,” Yancy murmurs back.

“Well, if you insist,” and the damn kid actually waggles his eyebrows.

Yancy slaps him on his pert little posterior, and sends him grinning into the steamy room that smells of sex and exertion. Pauses for a moment to admire the view, before following.

Yeah. This is pretty good.

If it wasn’t for the baby, if it meant staying here with Raleigh, warm and happy and full, he could almost be happy with a guilty verdict.


	4. Chapter 4

Yancy’s seen his fair share of prison shows. _Oz_ really did used to be a favorite, thanks to the random nude scenes that pop up so gloriously from time to time. He’s also seen all those trial movies. _A Few Good Men_ was one of the only DVDs in the squadron DVD rack, back at the Icebox. Mom used to love John Grisham books; _The Partner, The Client_ , all of ‘em. But he can’t remember any of those stories going into all the excruciatingly mindless bullshit that goes on before, during, and after a trial. 

Or court martial. Maybe it’s just because it’s a court martial.

Maybe it’s because it’s _his_ court martial.

Who knows?

The first few days stretch out forever. Getting up too early, having a uniform thrown at him, hauled to the headquarters building at Hickam, where one of the large conference rooms has been pressed into service for this ridiculous proceeding. Sitting there, while Major Heller presents the opening defense arguments, some Dane with a distracting accent leading the prosecution. The jury is a international mix of PPDC personnel. According to the Major, the only requirements were English fluency and no direct contact with the Beckets. Means nobody from the Icebox is here. Yancy had Major Heller file a motion for that on the second day, which was a massive mistake; it added four days to the schedule and, of course, it came back denied. 

The only saving grace here Sitting at the front of the room in all his starched-shirt glory, Marshall Pentecost looks as bored as Yancy feels, but there could be reasons for that.

Reasons like the UN representatives ensconced in the back of the room. On their tablets, tapping out notes. Orders from Brussels, no doubt, but they could be playing Candy Crush for all Yancy cares. He’s fed off Pentecost enough to read him like a book. The human’s nervous, pissed-off, irritated.

He’s been told to convict.

Yancy can’t find it, that exact thought, the precise moment of memory, but he _knows_ Pentecost. It’s in there.

They’re so fucked.

“Taylor’s such a smug shit,” Raleigh grouses on the afternoon of the second Monday, after another six hours of getting nothing done, a weekend of sitting around in lock-up playing a game of _Who Can Make the Humans Do The Kinkiest Thing?_ “Tapping out his little messages to his little buddies in Europe, laughing at us.” He looks down at himself. “Laughing at me.”

Major Heller opens his hand for the younger Becket. “I’m sorry about the gossip rags, Rals. I did my best.”

Raleigh gives their lawyer a somewhat-sad smile. And a peck on the lips. And crawls into his lap. “I know you’re trying, sir. I appreciate it.”

Yancy rolls his eyes, and tips the latest issue of _People_ off the edge of the table. On the cover this week? A telescopic photo of them going into the headquarters building, a crappy cell phone shot inside the court room, Raleigh’s weight gain readily apparent in both. A breathless caption’s plastered over it. 

_Shocking reports from PPDC insiders: Ranger Becket, transgender and pregnant?_

Apparently, the country’s going nuts.

The base is investigating who took the photos, and how. Random reporters and paparazzi can’t get on base, and the few serious journalists who have been allowed to observe the proceedings aren’t allowed to take any recording devices into the court room.

Yancy’s worried about the photos. But he’s more worried about what photos might get taken in a future instance. Say, if they ever get around to sentencing. And the plan. Last thing they need is some PPDC bureaucrat escaping with photographic proof of what’s happened. Tends to fuck with the effectiveness of a whammie, that kind of incontrovertible evidence.

“We’re not sure who pushed out the rumor...”

“It better not have been you,” Yancy warns.

Major Heller sighs and shifts his weight, letting Raleigh cuddle a little closer in his lap. “I wouldn’t do that to you, sweetie. You know that, right?”

“I know,” Raleigh replies, sniffling a bit, and noses his way into their lawyer’s neck. “I trust you.”

And yeah. Maybe Major Heller’s been around Raleigh enough - and is far enough from his girlfriend - to be sort of affected as well. Yancy would be more worried if Raleigh wasn’t taking advantage of it.

“So how do they know?” Yancy asks.

“One of the doctors or nurses must have said something,” Major Heller replies, all business, like he doesn’t have a lapful of pregnant incubus. “I have my master sergeant trying to run it down. You know how rumors go, though.”

“Yeah,” Yancy sighs. 

“We could use it, though. Right now, it’s just rumor. If you’d like to confirm it in any way, that could put pressure on...”

“Not a chance,” Yancy answers, Raleigh nodding along. They talked about this at lunch, when they found out about the article. Too much of a risk. The PPDC propaganda department has had a stranglehold on their past up to this point. If they go outside that umbrella of protection, release information that bizarre, well... Yancy doesn’t want to spend the rest of his life wearing a different face.

Major Heller nods back, petting Raleigh’s hair, Raleigh burrowing even closer. “If you’re worried about the cell phone usage in the courtroom, I could see if the local intell shop here could do me a favor.”

“Like what?” Yancy asks.

He gets a grin in response. “Like their cell phone jammer. One of those puppies up on the roof of HQ, ain’t nobody within a hundred yards of the court room sending out anything.”

“They can still send it later, though,” Yancy points out.

“True. But I can drop by the comm squadron too. You’d be amazed how easy it is to hack cell phones.”

“My hero.” Raleigh gives Major Heller a big kiss on the cheek, and wiggles suggestively on his lap. “Can I thank you properly?”

Their Air Force lawyer just chuckles, and pushes Raleigh off his lap to unzip his own fly.

Nobody’s got their cell phones out in court on Tuesday. 

They really do owe Major Heller big time.

Yancy settles into the rest of the evidence phase, doodling in his notebook and doing feather-light exploration of the jury members’ hot button desires, while Raleigh shamelessly worms deeper into Major Heller’s pleasure centers.

Building a successful orgy is, after all, about giving everybody what they want.

But really, for Yancy, the only thing making this whole thing bearable is knowing Daddy is in the back of the room, every moment of this stupidity, heart bright and open.

+++++

“What happens when they figure out Raleigh’s not trans?” Scott asks, flipping through that _People_ trash, stretched out comfortably against Herc’s chest.

Herc grunts, non-committal, and strokes his little brother’s bare shoulder, thinking. “They’ll keep digging.”

“And find us?”

 _Us._ Warms Herc’s heart to hear his Scotty referring to himself as an incubus. Finally. He was extremely resistant to the idea, but between their son’s charms and his own hunger, he’s finally starting to accept it. It’s comforting. And even if it is a small victory, Herc needs all the comfort he can get right now. Between the boys’ insane - and likely suicidal - plan to get themselves out of a prison sentence and Scott’s impending return to said prison - Stacker told him to go fuck himself, when Herc tried to bring it up after the trial on Monday - he needs _something_ to go right. It sure as fuck isn’t the trial.

Goddamn UN cuntbags.

They’ll not take his family away from him. Not a chance.

“They won’t find us,” Herc promises, and kisses Scott’s head. “I won’t let them.”

Scott looks back over his shoulder, smiling, and touches Herc’s hand. “I love you, ‘Le. But not even you can stop the weight of the entire world’s curiosity.”

“So what are you proposing?”

“I don’t know,” Scotty lies, and turns a bit, settling on his side, into the crook of Herc’s arm. His wings are out - according to Yancy, they’ll heal better in the free air - and the feather feel downy-light against Herc’s skin. Such a pretty boy, his Scott. “But we need to do something.”

“You think about it then, love. Let me know what you come up with.”

“I will.” Scott kisses Herc’s chest, fingers caressing the drivesuit scars, the last set from Lucky, the ones that match Scott’s own. “How long, you think, until we get to sentencing?”

“Major Heller told me another two weeks.”

Scott whistles. “Goddamn.”

“He’s dragging it out. Hoping for a miracle, I think.”

“Well, he’s bloody well got it,” Chuck announces, tramping back in, past the guard, locking the door behind him. He tosses his jacket unceremoniously into the nearest chair, and drags his vest top off. “Tendo’s in.”

“You sure about that, honey?” Herc asks, smiling a little as their boy shimmies out of his khakis.

“Yup.” Chuck gives his daddy and mummy a wink, and wipes a bit of still-wet cum off his belly as he heads over. “Only problem is that he can only be there the day he’s being calling as a witness. He’s not allowed to come as an observer. Just found out. Yancy’s gonna have to move up his time table. But....”

Scott stops him before he can crawl into bed with them. “Is that satyr cum, baby?”

“Umm...”

“We’re not fucking around with that. Go take a shower.”

Chuck pouts for a second. “But Mum...”

“You want to turn your father into a goat?”

“No, but...”

“Shower,” Scott orders, and points at the small hospital room’s ensuite. “Lysol anywhere he came on you and wash it off with that stupid-strong soap they’ve got in there.”

“Yes Mum,” Chuck grumbles, stomping off into the bathroom.

“It’s probably okay,” Herc says absently, rubbing his mate’s shoulder. 

Scott just thumps him on the chest. “You’re human, ‘Le, and I’d like to keep you that way.”

The shower starts up; Herc grunts. He’s not so sure about that. He’s got two incubi mated to him, a third carrying his baby, a fourth so entwined in his mind that he’s not sure which of his memories are Yancy’s creation and which are his own, and they all need him just the way he is. No glorified goat spunk could take him away from that responsibility.

Besides, he doesn’t feel so human these days anyway.

He needs the sex almost as much as they do. And right now, thinking about their boy, all naked and warm and soapy...

“Think Chuck’s done scrubbing that shit off yet?” Herc asks, erection hardening against his little brother’s thigh, and Scott just wraps his tail around it.

“How ‘bout I take the edge off, while we wait?”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tag updates, please check the tag updates.

Chuck twists the remote around in his pocket, leaning into Daddy as much as he dares. Tendo’s being sworn in now, clearly apprehensive, dress blues crinkling as he pushes himself around in his chair. Trying to get comfortable, no doubt. His trousers are baggy enough to not give anything away - Chuck had to help him rig up quite the contraption.

Must be terrible, being that afraid of your own dick.

Especially when cum is such a wonderful thing.

“...so help me God,” Tendo finishes, repeating after the MP who’s been press-ganged into service as the bailiff. Whole thing’s been very ad hoc, which Daddy says isn’t unusual for a military court, but does seem a bit silly for something this high profile.

“You may take your seat now, Commander Choi,” the Marshall says from the front of the room, and waves at the lawyer for the defense. “Proceed.”

The lawyer nods - both to Pentecost and to the UN delegation in the back of the conference room - and stands. “Commander Choi, would you please give us a rundown of your role in the PPDC?”

Tendo shifts again, glancing at Yancy before staring back down at his hands, the rosary wrapped in its usual place. “I’m listed as a LOCCENT Technician, and a shift commander. My official duties include monitoring of the Breach via our sensor network, processing routine reports from the different Shatterdomes for senior leadership consumption, and most importantly, directing the deployment and movement of jaegers during combat drops.” 

“So the jaeger pilots on drops, they take orders from you?”

“They take guidance from me. Our LOCCENT intelligence officer interprets various forms of data during a kaijuu event, passes that along to me, and I pass that along to the pilot teams. When I’m on shift.”

“When on you’re on shift. Yes, interesting. How many live combat drops have you supervised?”

“Knifehead was my fifteenth. Sir.”

“Fifteenth in how many years?”

“Since coming onto duty in 2015.”

“How many years is that?”

“Seven years.”

“That’s barely two kaijuu a year. Doesn’t give you very much experience, does it?”

“Sir, we only have five people who sit in my chair, including me, twenty-four-seven. We all see more than we’d like. I have plenty of experience with these things.”

“Five controllers, and yet, you’re the first one who’s lost a jaeger?”

Major Heller - who positively _stank_ of Raleigh when he came in this morning - raises his hand. “Marshall, objection to this line of questioning. What is the prosecution trying to prove?”

Pentecost grunts. “Yes, please keep it on topic, Mister Lund. We are not here to question Commander Choi’s record.”

“I am merely trying to establish...”

“His record is impeccable,” Pentecost snaps, and then seems to catch himself.

Tendo is clearly having trouble keeping himself still. Yancy and Raleigh exchange a glance.

Chuck yawns into his father's shoulder.

“Falling asleep, honey?” Daddy asks quietly, a bemused tone in the whisper.

“This is so boring,” he whispers back, but tries not to grouse, the prosecution launching now into a more detailed examination of Tendo’s exact duties. This whole thing has been so, so boring. “When can we get things going?”

“Give it a few minutes more,” Daddy whispers back. “Tendo’s the lynchpin of this case. If the prosecution fucks up here, the Beckets’ll have it in the bag and no need to, umm, turn him on.”

Chuck sighs, digging deeper into his seat, letting his eyes roam the room. The commander’s conference room is nice, a big V-shaped table dominating the center of it, the front area where a briefer might stand done up with a little platform and table for the Marshall, a chair beside for the witness. The sides of the room have had extra chairs added to it; the Beckets’ side for jury, the prosecution side for the small gallery of observers. Chuck can almost see the prosecution team’s notebooks, hear their whispered conversation, but the observer chairs have been shoved far enough down the V that eavesdropping is impossible.

But at least nobody’s out of easy reach of anybody else. Thirty people in the room, give or take, and the space is fairly confined. All good. This is going to work. A lot better than trying to reason with the bloody bureaucrats from Europe. Apparently.

“Commander Choi, please repeat that for the jury. You outrank the Beckets?”

Tendo huffs. “I outrank them on paper. The DoD pays me as an O-4 and it pays them as O-2s. But in reality, nobody but Marshall Pentecost and the local ‘Dome commander outranks a jaeger pilot...”

“So what you’re saying is that they feel entitled to be openly subordinate when...”

“No, that’s not what I’m saying at all! I’m saying the guys in the filed have the authority to make decisions based on conditions as they...”

Pulling the remote from his pocket, Chuck nudges Daddy. Daddy gives him that _look_ , but Chuck just smiles. “I’m hungry, Daddy,” he replies and cranks up the dial.

Up at the stand, Tendo shivers.

As well he should. He does have the largest vibrator Chuck could find at Sensually Yours jammed up his ass, held firmly in by that chastity belt he’s wearing. And sure, it’s a ladies’ vibrator, but it’ll do the job. All they need to do is just get him aroused. Get him hard and leaking into the double layers of condom he’s wearing.

“Chuck,” Herc groans.

Chuck smiles wider, and ups the vibrator to its highest setting. “Really very hungry, Daddy.”

+++++

This thing has been shit this week.

“Wifi’s not working again,” Taylor’s Canadian counterpart grumbles beside him, stretching back a little in his chair and taking a deep gulp of his Starbucks. “Didn’t you talk to your boys?”

“What can I say, the Air Force is all pissed off at us,” Taylor replies, voice equally low. He’s given up trying to get signal in the court room. Wifi, cell, even satellite’s not working. The comm squadron commander - when he was summoned personally to the building, yesterday night, to answer for why his guys hadn’t been able to get that repeater installed yet - had just shrugged and offered some bullshit about the thickness of the concrete here.

Bullshit.

Taylor knows the military’s fucking mad at him. Trying to fuck with him. _Him_. Personally. Like he’s the goddamn ambassador to the UN, or something. Like it’s his fault the Security Council’s being a bag of dicks right now.

No, all he does is liaise with the Pan-Pacific Defense Corps; sits in on their committee meetings, tries to manage the humorless Brit they have running the combat portion of Jaeger Ops, cleans up their shit, gets ignored when he tries to explain the politics involved in all of this. _Politics_. Politics run the world, and politics are what’s going to save them from the kaijuu. But nope, these military boys think everything can be solved with blunt force trauma.

Taylor knows the military’s mad at him, and he doesn’t care.

Bastards are going to get what they deserve, once the public figures out how useless they are. And then maybe they can get a real solution put into place, like the Wall of Life. A ten mile test section successfully held off the last attack down in Acapulco four months ago, didn’t it? And it didn’t involve the massive property damage and civilian casualties that the jaegers normally entail. At least, not until Matador Fury showed up.

Whatever.

The Beckets. The Beckets, their successful convictions, are the key to this. That moron Pentecost might think he’s saving the jaeger program by putting these two on the chopping block, but that’s only because Taylor’s convinced him that’s the case. It’s going to be the beginning of the end for it all. 

_Politics_. Winning again.

Too bad Pentecost doesn’t understand that.

Too bad for Pentecost. Too bad for those two cute boys across the table from him, all handsome and cock-sure, hard bodies barely hidden beneath those perfectly tailored uniforms and...

Taylor shakes his head. Huh. What was he thinking about?

“So,” their lawyer is saying up front, “what you’re telling me then is that the jaeger pilots aren’t responsible to anybody for their actions?”

“I- oh!” 

Choi jumps a little in his seat, squirming like he’s been bit, and Taylor frowns, leaning forward. 

“Are you alright, Mister Choi?” Pentecost says gently, holding a hand up to stop the prosecutor. Taylor nods a little; that’s good. They need to make sure their star witness is alright, if he’s going to do his duty to the world up here today.

“Fine, fine,” Choi all but babbles. His skin is flushed. “Just, umm, a little uncomfortable, all of the sudden.”

“Would you like to take a break?” Pentecost asks, attention shifting completely to Choi, and Choi shakes his head. “Then please continue, Mister Lund.”

Taylor forces himself to sit back in his chair, but it’s difficult. He’s worried now - but really, he’s just concerned about Commander Choi, and only then, for the purposes of the case. He taps his stylus against the dark surface of his tablet. He should turn it back on, but not until he knows everything is okay with Commander Choi.

“He looks like he’s getting red,” the British rep says from beside him, on the other side from Canada’s position. He’s sweating himself. “Maybe he’s hot.”

Taylor nods tightly. Something in his chest is constricting. Twisting. “It does seem to be getting warm in here.”

“Maybe we should say something.”

“I...” Taylor begins, and then he smells it. Something in the air. Something that has no business being in the tropical air of Hawaii. It’s good, though. Woodsy. Like camping. Or incense, maybe. Musky. Definitely musk...

Taylor takes another deep breath, trying to place the scent that’s filling his lungs and nose, and sees that damn Major Heller raise his hand, the older Becket whispering in his ear.

“Marshall,” Heller interrupts. “I think we need to address the situation with Commander Choi. He doesn’t look well.”

Pentecost nods, and Taylor sits forward again. “Are you having trouble, Mister Choi?”

Commander Choi rubs his temples, eyes down. “I am a little warm, sir.”

“If you’re too warm, Mister Choi, you may remove your jacket,” the Marshall says gently.

“Thanks for that, sir,” Tendo says, and Taylor notices it too. It’s far too hot in this damn room. Maybe he should go get somebody, he starts to think, but the idea slips from him before he can catch - what was it? Leave? No, this is court. He has orders from his superiors too, after all. He can’t leave the court room. Can’t stop watching the trial for a moment. _Don't go anywhere, you have to see what happens_. “You mind if I take my shirt off too?”

“Is it that warm in here?” the Marshall asks.

Tendo winks at him, hands working open silver buttons. “Oh yeah. Maybe you should consider it too.”

“Hmm.” The Marshall pauses, hands at his tie, and nods at the bailiff. “Please instruct the rest of the court they may strip down as well, if they’d like.”

Taylor breathes out, grateful for the permission. His skin feels like it’s on fire, like he’s cooking from the inside out. He glances over at his Canadian compatriot, and see he’s already got his jacket off, and is tearing at his tie. “Here,” he says generously, and reaches over to hook a finger through it. “Let me.”

“Thanks, buddy,” comes the reply. 

Somebody else’s hands find Taylor’s jacket, as he works that tie loose, and he has to get up out of his chair to get a better angle on both.

“Is that better now, Commander Choi?” the Marshall of the PPDC is asking from the front of the room. All around them, Taylor can hear clothes rustling, ripping. 

The scent in the room grows stronger.

“Ah yes, much better, thank you, sir.” Choi’s bare-chested now, chest hair dark and prominent. More of it than Taylor would have expected. It looks good on him, a nice dusting of color across his lean chest and abs. Choi cards a hand through his hair, the curls loosening from their coif, falling across his forehead. 

“Always feels good to get naked, doesn’t it?” Raleigh Becket pipes up, feet up on the table kicked back in his chair, and... where did his uniform go? Not that Taylor needs to know. That boy is _beautiful_ , even if he does have a rounded little belly right now, all those nice circuitry scars standing out against his pale pretty skin. His thighs are shiny, wet, and Taylor can almost smell...

Pentecost agrees, working on his own clothes. “Maybe we should adjourn for a few moments,” he says to the bailiff, even as he tosses his undershirt away. He’s got a cute little unpadded bra on, sparkly blue against his dark skin. “Let them deal with this air-con problem.”

Major Heller stands, a shaky movement, like he’s being pulled up by strings. He’s sweating freely, jacket open but nothing yet removed. Taylor rolls his eyes and stands, pulling off his own pants as he walks around to that side of the table. Can’t have that now can they? 

“Sir, the defense moves to proceed to cross-examination.”

“I don’t,” and the Marshall glances back at Taylor.

Who nods. Because this air conditioning problem isn’t going to be fixed any time soon, and he doesn’t want to waste any time? _Keep going_ , a little voice is whispering in the back of his brain, and Taylor repeats it aloud himself.

“Alright, but let it be noted we can’t proceed until everyone is equally naked,” Pentecost tells the stenographer, who nods back but doesn’t make a move to type anything in, body slack and face sleepy.

Taylor tears off the rest of his clothes, something in the back of his thoughts making sure he folds them neatly and lays them out of the way under the table, because he is - sadly - going to have to put them back on when he’s done here, isn’t he? “You heard the Marshall!” he yells into the already-chaotic room. “Get naked! Let’s get this trial over with! I want that guilty conviction.”

“And why is that, exactly?” Hansen, the older one, asks from the other end of the room. He hasn’t touched his clothes. He’s the only one in the room who hasn’t. In fact, he looks quite cool, one booted foot propped over his knee, lounging back in his chair like some smug Australian warlord. “Why are you so desperate for that?”

Taylor fumes, banging a fist on the table. “You need to learn your place, Ranger! Questioning your superiors...”

“Oh, get fucked,” Hansen says with a roll of his eyes, and gets up, heading for the front of the room.

Taylor is suddenly very aware of how desperately hard he is, erection standing straight out from his groin, bright red and aching.

Hell, does it _hurt_.

Together with the scent in the room, he can’t hardly think.

Major Heller is sweating quite badly now as he gets up, pacing in the front of the room. “Commander Choi, earlier you spoke of a... a civilian fishing boat that... oh god, Marshall, I’m...”

“Mister Lund, would you give your counterpart a hand?” the Marshall asks, quite sweetly, but he has to repeat himself, because the prosecution lawyer appears very distracted by the matching pair of ruffly panties that the Marshall is wearing, the little blue bows on the ends of the garter straps that are holding up his black pantyhose. There’s a wet spot forming on the front, the Marshall’s huge cock pressing against the fabric, weeping.

“Go give him a hand, you moron!” Taylor bellows, and groans, bracing himself on the edge of the table. He’s aching, aching, and needs... _need something inside of you_... needs a dick in him, now. But almost everyone is already pairing up, even his traitorous co-conspirators, and there’s nowhere to go. He collapses against the table leg, whimpering. His own hand feels too hot, too much, too little...

“Ahh, thank you for that,” Heller sighs, wrapping a hand in Lund’s hair as the Danish attorney finally gets his lips around the Air Force man’s own hard length. “As I was saying, Commander Choi, you were talking about a fishing boat?”

Taylor can just see Choi from here, sweat and precum puddling around him on the floor, and Choi wipes his face again, nodding. It looks like he has horns, but that’s impossible, isn’t it? “Yes, there was a fishing boat out in the path of the kaijuu that night.”

“And?”

“And Marshall Pentecost ordered them not to go after it.”

“Well,” and Heller moans a little as Lund yanks his pants down the rest of the way a jams a finger up his ass, “that doesn’t sound right, does it?”

Choi is gripping the edges of the chair. “No, no it doesn’t.”

Heller nods to the jury, who are only sort of paying attention to him, because Becket’s pulling a few of them into a semi-circle around him, somebody’s dick already down his throat, and of course getting a blow job is far more important than silly trial proceedings. Yancy and Raleigh are so pretty, how could they possibly be guilty? _It would be wrong to send such pretty boys to jail, wouldn’t it?_ Of course it would. “Don’t you think, argh, fuck... don’t you agree with me, ladies and gentlemen, that a pilot’s first duty is protect human life?”

Taylor drops his head again, more talking going on at the front of the room. He can’t focus on it right now. The air is so thick, thick with smoke from that bonfire, wherever it is, and he’s so hard, and he can’t... he needs...

“Hey, I’ve got you here, buddy. Here he is, guys!” the Canadian rep says, and Taylor cries in relief as multiple sets of hands yank him out from under the table and throw him over the edge. He flails for a moment, and then gets his own hands back to his buttcheeks, prying them apart. 

“Please, please, I...”

“I know, we gotcha!”

It takes a few tries before somebody’s cock - Taylor couldn’t care whose - is finally jammed hard up his ass and throbbing. Feels like it’s tearing him apart, too dry and...

_Feels good, doesn’t it, you little sadist?_

Oh no, it’s perfect.

But he _does_ still have a trial to monitor, and Taylor blinks tears - _of happiness_ \- out of his eyes to focus back on the front of the room.

Where Senior Ranger Hansen has his uniform pants open and his jacket unbuttoned and his dick lodged firmly up Marshall Pentecost’s hole, a stream of words accompanying his hard, deep thrusts - _you’ve been a very naughty little girl, Stacks, and I hope you know that, bringing two of Daddy’s favorite boys to trial for no fucking good reason at all, so we’re going to be good now, aren’t we, and correct this little problem_. It’s all blending in with the slaps he’s landing on Pentecost’s tight little panty-covered ass. Hansen’s ripped open the back of the silk, and seeing it, Taylor groans into the wood of the table and comes hard.

Major Heller is still talking, Choi still trying to answer - and Choi appears to be cuffed to the chair he’s in now, hands and legs, squirming desperately - but Taylor doesn’t care.

_This is wonderful, isn’t it? Best thing you’ve ever felt. You want everyone in this courtroom inside of your slutty greedy little pussy, you want all of it, so much more..._

This is the best thing he’s ever felt.

He wants _more_.

Time sort of stops for a while. Unimportant, under the pleasure that’s flooding every pain receptor in his entire body.

But at some point, out of the haze, Taylor bent over the table with the fourth - no, sixth - juror’s dick up his ass, thighs smeared with the delicious mess, he hears Senior Ranger Hansen’s voice again again.

“Enough of this bullshit. Heller, shut up. Stacks, don’t you think you should be a good little girl and ask the jury for their verdict?”

Taylor raises his tired head off the semen-smeared surface of the conference room table, just in time to see the Marshall lift his own head out from between the head juror’s thighs. The Brit’s mustache is heavy with her juices. 

“Ma’am?” he asks thickly.

“Fuck, keep her going, will you?” Hansen snaps.

“Yes daddy,” Pentecost says meekly, sliding his fingers back into her dripping cunt. 

She wails. “No-not guilty, of course, not guilty!”

The various jury members - the ones whose hands aren't otherwise occupied, anyway - applaud.

Pentecost looks back up at Hansen. “She said not guilty, Daddy.”

“So what’s my baby girl’s decision?”

“Not guilty,” Pentecost replies, and smiles as Hansen yanks him up into a bruising kiss.

Panic sweeps through Taylor’s sluggish mind, those two words cutting through the haze that’s enveloped him. It’s like a veil’s been lifted. He shoves back from the table, shoves off the man who’s fucking him, ass on fire, and stumbles backwards. 

Looks around the room. Really takes it in. Horrified.

The conference room is a scene out of some Roman-era porn flick. There are people everywhere, fluids everywhere, people fucking everywhere, in every configuration and every combination, backwards and forwards and upside down. Most are asleep now, or moving very slowly, worn out completely, but some people are still going, if slower than before. 

The Marshall’s wearing goddamn panties and desperately eating out the jury foreman, who’s getting nailed from behind by the older Becket. The younger one’s on his knees in the middle of a group of people - and holy shit, those rumors about him being trans are _true?!_ \- positively white from the amount of cum on his skin, while the younger Hansen has his dick up one of the reporter and his tail up inside another...

Wait.

A tail?

A...

“Representative Taylor? You alright?”

It’s Choi. Even with his heart trying to hammer out of his chest in panic, Taylor can register that voice. See that figure. Recognize the fact that the man has _horns_ curling out of his forehead.

Muscles screaming, Taylor falls back against the nearest wall, slipping down, his skin far too slick to give him any friction on the paint. 

“You, you all...” he gasps, not knowing how all of this happened, but sure it’s their fucking fault. These damn jaeger pilots. Those damn Beckets, thorns in his side, all of them, in the way of all the things he could do if they just got out of the way and let him save the world instead... “You’re all in so much trouble! You can’t do this! You can’t...”

“Yancy?” Choi asks, fighting with the little silver cage cage he’s wearing, and goddammit it, does he have goat legs too? What the fuck is going on here?

Becket’s right there now, and Taylor tries to yank away from the hand that fists up in his hair. He can feel something pushing into his mind, thoughts that aren’t his own - _you’re alright, this is all normal, don’t worry_ \- and he growls, fighting back against it as hard he can.

“You’re all fucked!” he wails impotently. “You’re finished! All of you! You’re all going to jail and this fucking program will finally die and...”

“Yancy!”

“Yeah, so I’m, like, trying, but he’s fighting the...”

“Out of the way!”

“Tendo, wait, shit, don’t...”

Choi wipes out his dick out of it metal containment with a little howl of triumph, and Taylor barely gets his eyes on it before he feels something hot hit his mouth and cheek. It tastes...

“In your face!” he hears Chuck Hansen crow victoriously.

“That was an awesome shot, dude,” Raleigh adds.

Taylor grabs for the nearest chair, trying to get his balance, pull himself up, escape, but he can’t. His legs wobble something awful. They won’t hold him, and he falls again, groaning, back arching off the ground. Is his leg hair getting thicker? Taylor only notices because the his cock is standing straight up in the air again, hard and hairy and _hairy_ and... oh.

Hasn’t he always been hairy? If he wasn’t before, he should have been, he figures.

“Bit of a necessary skill,” Choi says with a sigh. “We should, ah, still probably scrub some of this down, in case of splatter.”

“Oh, right. I’ll go find some bleach.”

“There’s a box in the closet back there. Brought some shit in this morning,” the older Hansen offers. 

“Aww, thanks, Daddy.”

"Turn off the vibrator, too, would ya Chuck? It's... I think we can stop things now."

"Oh right. You sure?"

Taylor realizes they’re all standing above him. Except for Yancy, who’s kneeling beside him. Trying to force his eyes to focus, Taylor notices how pretty he is, how powerful, magic glowing around him like a halo. He can dimly remember hating the man, but he can’t for the life of himself remember why. He looks like a _god_. “So, Tendo. It happens that fast?”

“Yeah, guess so.” Choi is saying, and Taylor smiles up at them all, skin burning again, something tearing apart and reforming itself so nicely within his chest. “Don’t remember most of it myself.”

“And it de-ages too?”

“Yeah, to about sixteen, seventeen. I was sixty-two when it happened to me.”

“You never mentioned that.”

“Right. Because so many boys your age like the Elvis hair.”

“Huh. It’s not in Azazel’s Guide.”

“Not everything’s in that book, Yance.”

“Still. De-aging. Never would have guessed.”

Choi - no, no, not Choi, no, there’s another word, more important, something more, something better - kneels down next to him, touching his forehead. His hands touch the nubby little horns curling out above Taylor’s ears, rubbing all that burning, lovely cum deeper into his flushed skin and Taylor whimpers. 

“Sorry about that, kiddo. Birth’s always a bit difficult, isn’t it?”

Taylor smiles in relief. Of course. He knows who this is. Every good boy is made from his daddy’s cum, after all. “Yes, Father.”

“Jesus, Tendo, what the fuck?”

“Eh, gets him off our collective backs, doesn’t it? Dude had a stick up his ass anyway. This’ll be good for him.” Father helps him stand, and Taylor stumbles a little. His legs feel wrong - no, right, they’re right now - as he balances on his hooves for the first time. “And don’t you worry, sweetie. The herd’s always happy to welcome a new boy to the party.”

“Thank you, Father.”

Father chuckles as he helps him up too. “Can’t build that wall of life silliness now, now can we, boy?”

“Wall of Life?” Taylor asks, completely confused. He doesn’t build things. He just fucks.

“Newborns,” that powerful Yancy Becket says, and gives Taylor a little peck on the lips. “Be good for your new daddy now, you got it?”

“Boys should always obey their daddies,” Hansen says, and sighs, glancing around the room, like it’s a problem it’s so wonderfully messy and smelling of Father. “We should probably open a window or something. Fuck this stinks. Get everybody to wipe themselves down too.”

“Umm,” that lovely blond-headed creature says. “How, exactly?”

“So you didn’t have a plan for cleaning up, did you?”

“Uh, normally we just sort of...”

“Yance, this is way too many people to tongue-bathe,” Hansen grumbles. “Seriously, what were you thinking? We let everybody just fuck themselves to sleep and leave?”

Yancy shrugs. “Yeah, pretty much.”

“You are so goddamn lucky I went to CVS last night.”

But Taylor blocks him out, struggling a little. His own father is trying to get him back in a pair of pants, and he can’t for the life of him understand _why_.

+++++

Raleigh might be buzzing when they’re done signing the paperwork that marks them as free men, when they’re allowed to leave the still befuddled HQ building (that scent got into the vents, after all), but the only thing Yancy wants to do when they get back to the VOQ is collapse into bed.

He doesn’t remember orgies being that exhausting.

Must be because he had five women to deal with, plus that obstinate shithead Taylor, and Stacker, and trying to help Tendo keep himself calm in the face of all of that and Tendo still managing to get out of the handcuffs and the industrial-strength cage they had him in and ...

Yeah, Yancy’s exhausted.

But Raleigh is giggling, and generally being a smug little shit because _I told you so, Yancy, I told you everything was going to be okay_ and while Yancy might need sleep, what he needs even more than that is...

“Daddy!” Raleigh practically squeals, throwing himself into their father’s arms from across the room.

Daddy gives him a tight hug, kissing the top of his head then letting go, hands - and lips - sliding reverently down to Raleigh’s belly. “My boys,” he says fondly, and Raleigh just laughs again and throws his arms around Daddy’s neck.

Chuck leans on Yancy’s shoulder. “I suppose it’ll be fine, having a little brother,” he observes casually.

Yancy ruffles his hair and pushes him off, down onto the bed. “What are you talking about? It’s the best thing in the world, having a little brother,” he tells the kid, kneeling up over him.

“Best thing besides being one, maybe.”

It sounds like Daddy, but it’s not, and Yancy rolls over on his back, off Chuck, foot up on the bed. “Scott,” he says, genuinely happy to see the other incubus. He’s bare from the waist up, lean body on display. He’s still thin, pale, a little shaky on his feet, but Yancy can’t count his ribs anymore. His wings, though... his wings look good. Feathers back, color softened to a charcoal gray, the same color as Striker’s main skin. “What are you doing out of the hospital?”

“Le had a little chat with Stacks after the whole,” and Scott makes a little hand-wavy gesture, and grins. “Fuck session, or whatever.”

“And you’re out?”

“Hey, Representative Taylor’s disappeared and the press is running with all kinds of crazy conspiracy theories, since nobody really remembers what happened. UN’s freaking out. Nobody's running Stacks at the moment, cause nobody wants to step into this mess, so the man's got some leeway to do what he likes." 

"So he just, what, pardoned you?"

"Looks like," Scott says breezily. Like he hadn't been facing a certain death sentence, going back to prison without Daddy around to make sure he can eat. "You whammied the stenographer right good, Yance. The transcripts tell the right story. You’re acquitted of all charges, both of you. Good work, real good work.” Scott flops down on the other side of Chuck, who instantly curls around to get at least part of himself in his mom’s lap. “Hey there, baby.”

“Hey Mum,” Chuck says reverently. 

Yancy smiles, the word twisting up inside of him, thinking about his own mom. She would have liked the Hansens. Would have liked being a grandma, too. Especially to a little boy as adorable as Raleigh’s is going to be. “So I guess we’re all going home together, then?”

Daddy looks up from where Raleigh has wrestled him into a chair, butt wriggling in the air as he feeds. “All six of us,” he tells Yancy, hand twisted in Raleigh’s hair, urging him gently on. “Gonna mark you and your brother, mate you, soon as I can so everyone knows. You belong to me, and nobody is going to take you, any of you, away from me again.”

There’s power in it. Authority. Beyond what a human should have been capable of, maybe, but Yancy doesn’t care. It’s his _father_ talking. Of course he’s going to sound - look - like one of the very Knights of Hell, even if his heart is as human-bright as ever.

Makes Yancy feel loved.

Yancy doesn’t wait for Raleigh to give birth, for the time when Raleigh can mate Daddy too. Hell, he doesn’t even wait until they go back to Sydney. When they get on the PPDC transport plane the next morning, he does so on an endorphin buzz, a bandage plastered over the lubed-up skin of his lower back.

_Daddy’s Boy_

He hadn’t had to think twice about the wording. This is all he wants, all he really wants to be. He knows that now; he can accept that. And Daddy had just smiled, and told the artist to be extra careful, _he’s a special boy_. Held his hand through the whole thing.

Forming the bond took an expenditure of magic Yancy could barely manage, after the strain of fixing the trial. It’s left him drained to the point of shakiness, but Yancy doesn’t care. He’s surrendered quite a lot of his once-precious freedom too, but it’s a price worth paying. He can feel Daddy’s thoughts now, a ghost drift that will never go away, a reservoir of protection and affection and love and possessiveness there for him, any time he needs it.

He’s home.

Yancy curls up between Daddy’s legs and sinks into Daddy’s heart as soon as they get on the plane, cheek to knee, and falls asleep. Just like that.

Daddy’s hand doesn’t leave his hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> JFC. What’s wrong with me? What’s going on here? Even I don’t know anymore. How long have I been on this series, and it’s all just traaaaaaaaaash. Especially this one. So so much trash. Heh.
> 
> ETA: not an accurate representation of trials, court martials, or... anything, actually.


End file.
